


A Man is Many Different Things...

by MistyBeethoven



Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [89]
Category: Hangin' In (TV), Howie Meets the Ghost of Environmental Disasters Yet to Come (1991), Letting Go (1985), Night Heat (TV), Providence (1991)
Genre: Alley Sex, BBW, Bad Taste, Cleaning, Cunnilingus, Dark, Dark Love Story, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Facials, First Kiss, Guilt, Identity, Loss of Virginity, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overweight, Penis In Vagina Sex, Police, Prophets, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Self-Discovery, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Shame, Smiles, Soul-Searching, Surreal, Theft, Truth, Vaginal Fingering, Virginity, Wall Sex, police lineup, pussy slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: A partly surrealistic nightmare, where after being assaulted in an alleyway, I am taken to the police station to identify the guilty party, only to be shown a line of suspects, whom all appear to be the same man.Not knowing how to find out the culprit, the police have only one suggestion...Try each of the four suspects out in different ways until I find the guilty one.A pitch black dirty joke with serious undercurrents.
Relationships: Detective Kevin O'Brien & Detective Frank Giambone (Night Heat), Dickie Stanz & Chucky (Night Heat), Dickie Stanz (Night Heat)/Me, Doomsayer/Me, Eric (Providence)/Me, Mugger | Thug #1 (Night Heat)/Me, Stereo Teen #1 (Letting Go)/Me, Teen Client (Hangin' In)/Me
Series: "Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic!" or "How to Say I Love You With a Story" [89]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589944
Comments: 13
Kudos: 3





	1. A Man is Many Different Things...

**Author's Note:**

> This took longer to write because one of the feral cats in my neighborhood was sick and was probably put down. He was a cute little guy, my sister named Mittens and our neighbour/friend nicknamed Mittie. 
> 
> His back legs gave out on the neighbor's porch and he couldn't move but was just meowing until someone from the city came to get him. 
> 
> This little cat was the constant companion of that miserable old Tom cat that I wrote about in "The Partial Truth." They were inseparable even if Tom beat him up on occassion. Now I'm heartbroken thinking of Tom without him. Tom also lost this little female cat called Teddy, that followed him around a few years ago, when she was hit by a car.
> 
> My sister and I put a potted plant with her photograph on it on the front porch after it had happened. Tom cat just stared at it that first day. He missed her, we knew. But then Mittie came along and he wasn't so lonely. We're worried about what Tom cat will do now; he's grumpy but he seems to like the company.
> 
> When I'm upset it's harder for me to write, even though I write, in part, to feel better. Figure that one out.
> 
> :,(
> 
> What can I say about this?
> 
> It started when I was thinking about Keanu's role in Night Heat and I wasn't sure what to write for that. I'd been thinking of portraying myself as a novice lawyer sent to help him out and being sent two separate yet similar clients to defend. With two different character names, I thought he was different people. Only it turned out he wasn't.
> 
> But now my memory is foggy and I can't remember if I knew that before of after I then had the idea of having him mug me and needing to identify him in a police lineup. Only the possibility of bringing in all of the other small characters I wasn't sure I could come up with a story for occurred to me. It started out as comedy.
> 
> Come to think of it, I had thought of it after because there was one fact that brought out another possibility...you see, for all of Keanu's listings for this they never mentioned what his character truly was.
> 
> Then this really dirty idea came to me (a bad taste joke) that was too good to pass up. 
> 
> I think it's a little bit more than just that though now. Or, at least, it turned out that way. It's a bit of a companion piece to my Knock Knock story.
> 
> Oh, and I nixed the planned "The Prodigal" street thug appearance for it because I'm not convinced Keanu is really in that film. He might be, but I thought that he had to wait to work in the US until his green card went through; that film is shot in Washington. :/

**I**

Wasn't it too late to be out walking?

I asked myself this as I walked down streets made dark by lack of sun and wet from a storm which had started an hour ago but had eventually died, like wakefulness when sleep finally manages to overpower it.

Nobody was around I comforted myself, holding the copy of Louisa May Alcott's "An Old Fashioned Girl" I had picked up from the library closer to my overweight body and my overly large chest. I was dressed in a pink sweater with a black vest over it and a plaid skirt which went as far as above the knees of my chubby legs. I thought to myself with each step taken, and in shame, how I was not accustomed to feeling the air on my legs. I had pretty well stopped wearing dresses by the age of seven, when it had been called to my attention that I was too fat to be beautiful.

Turning a corner, I found myself going from solitude to company. A man long black hair and wearing a sign which read "But you did..." was shouting into a night as black as his hair, and where only I could hear him, that life was short and we only ever made it shorter. More unsettling, perhaps, was his tail end admonishment that in dreams we could wear whatever we wanted including skirts which were too short.

He would not pay me attention, apparently nothing about me offended him to earn it, and I was too shy to offer him much of mine. Though I liked his voice, and though there was something about his face that held the potential to be appealing, the long hair cast his face in a way too pretty to make him attractive to me.

So I turned to walk down an alleyway, unafraid to leave my only companion behind.

"Don't go down that way," a warning was shot unexpectedly at me, each syllable of the demand a bullet at my back.

"Why?" I asked, turning around and holding the book so tightly now that my bust was spilling over its edge. A fact that the Doomsayer noted with an interest he tried to hide. His sign jutted forward a little and made me wonder what had caused the movement since his hands had both remained by his side

"That's where dream mixes with nightmare...they become so tangled you can't seperate them, like toxins in the fresh air. Or Slinkys that find themselves twisted."

I tilted my head to stare at him, thinking of the only Slinky I had ever had which had encountered the very same fate until it could no longer walk down stairs, alone or in pairs but was relagated to the closet in a twisted, steel mess. The possibility appeared that he might be clairvoyant or that he had once owned the spiral toy too.

"You won't know which is which and its likely to make you...confused," the Doomsayer continued to prophesize and look befuddled himself.

"Aren't you confused too? Having been here at the mouth of the alley for so long?" I asked, realizing that the rain had made him wet and that it had not driven him from the puddle he was currently standing in.

"I was confused a long time ago," he replied. "I'm used to it by now."

I nodded and we stared at each other in amicable understanding. Street preachers were always mad, of course. They stood on sidewalks being mocked and unheard and yet they did it everyday like gleeful masochists. But being mad did not exclude them from speaking the truth occassionally, like broken clocks. I wondered briefly and with the absence of thought, if God sometimes whispered the future to the crazy so they would not be believed.

I looked down the alleyway and heard him say, "But if it's any consolation, parts of me are sorry. Just not certain ones."

I intended to ask him what he felt partly regretful for, but when I looked back he was gone.

Believing he was lacking in his own conviction to remain and try to convince me in turn, I headed down the alley, going towards a home, I thought, but not sure anymore in which direction it fell.

I took wide steps but the alley seemed to match them growing longer with each taken; I was becoming tired from the journey when I saw the two men at the end of it. One was taller, boyish of face, in a black jacket and of dark hair and dark eyes. His companion was fairer in shade and smaller of size. The way they were smiling made my blood turn to ice water still moving throughout my overweight body. I turned and ran, and though I thought I had won, at the entrance to the alley, a pair of gloved hands grasped my shoulders and pulled me straight back into it.

As I returned to what I had momentarily escaped from, I read, at last, what was written on the other side of the sign worn by the Doomsayer, now back at his post.

_TOLD YOU SO._

**II**

It was the tall boy whom _had_ me. I knew this first because I could see the shorter one by my side laughing in amusement.

"NO! PLEASE, LET ME GO!" I cried out as the dark haired man lifted me for a few seconds and my feet kicked in vain inches from the ground.

My large body was thrown cruelly against a brick wall and it was fully betrayed that I was there for the boys' pleasure and not for my own. I tried to struggle free, for I knew what his pleasure would be even if a part of me did not know why he would want it from me. A gloved hand met my face three times. At first it struck my eye, then my opposing cheek and then back to the left side of my lip, which split and bled. Still I fought him, trying to strike him in turn, only stopping when he pulled out from his jacket a gun.

I became frightened and frozen against the wall, metal convincing me that it meant life or death now while his hand had been far less effective.

My hands became numb and the book fell from them and to the side of us. Open it fell, in mirrored imitation of my legs and thighs, which the dark eyed boy spread for his intended purpose. The folds between my legs parted slightly also and I tried to make my clit behave. But the fear I felt helped bring it to life along with the close proximity of the man's hand and fingers, clothed as they were. No man had ever been so near to the bud which it had deemed quite so handsome and the Doomsayer's prophecy swiftly became reality: I could not untangle fantasy from reality or my daydreams of a known and wanted lover touching me from the closeness of an unwanted stranger.

The twat swelled further as the simple pair of underpants were pulled down and the night air hit skin unaccustomed to it. It was frightening to be exposed in public but it was forbidden and exciting for that reason too.

"No," I stated but the boy didn't obey it. In truth, it was something that was as useless to him as an umbrella would be on a cloudy and rainless day.

His hand crawled up to the area which was now naked. He stroked the mound two times and then grabbed it, letting his fingers run through the thick, untrimmed hair there. A slap, cold and blunted only by the gloves met my muffin and it stung and felt good all at once. Placing his head into the crook of my neck, he kissed it almost tenderly, while his finger found the bud he had brought about the blooming of and began to rub it languorously.

"Please," I said, my mouth begging for him to stop but feeling as if my clit was pleading more for him to continue and rub it faster to help it along in its growing.

The man listened to the unspoken wish of the nub rather than my lips and started to push against it more forcefully. I gasped, my thighs parting further while my hips gave a few bucks.

"Do you like that?" my attacker asked, looking me in the eye. I saw fully then how he looked familiar...like the Doomsayer should have if he cut his hair and became more handsome to me in his masculinity.

I shook my head even while the cream was flooding from me and pooling around his furiously moving fingertip.

Laughing madly, the young man grabbed the bottom of my sweater and blouse and pulled them up and over my huge breasts. The round white tops of each breast were eyed at with hunger and as I squirmed and they bounced, earning a more lusty stare, my clit felt full of blood and arousal. The thug brought his head to the overly large things and lifted the bra up so that the night air now touched my nipples making them harden long before his mouth found them and he started to suck on them each, making the pressure grow down below.

"No," I uttered again a protest but it sounded more like a moan as his mouth roamed over my tits, each in turn, lips kissing and teeth biting the soft flesh around before he kissed the nipples and his tongue teased each emerging teat and suckled it some more. I often saw his head between my breasts, their flesh between his lips and I felt aroused, inspite of myself. I thought of all the busty and beautiful women I had ever wanted to be in my fat childhood and the love and desire I had wanted to instill, seeing it now years later fulfilled on the boy's cruel yet handsome face.

I was crying as the pressure grew to its peak and I came, my ass pressed into the brick wall behind it and getting scraped just a little in its wriggling.

"Did you like that?" the boy whom had made me come asked a string of saliva refusing to be broken from his mouth to the tip of my nipple. " _Say_ that you liked it..."

The gun was pressed into the side of my cheek and my tears fell around the nozzle as I whimpered. "I...I..." I started seeing the man once more framed by my large raw tits and felt my face burn red. "I liked it..." I said.

"You want me to taste you?" he asked, leering up a me, his tongue flicking out at the corner of his wicked smile.

On the verge of saying no, I was halted by the pressure of the gun.

"You want me to lick it up, to make your pussy clean?" he sought to coerce me with the gun.

"L-Lick my p-pussy clean," I stuttered.

"Say please," he said, his finger on the trigger.

"Please," I whispered, almost like a child.

With another wicked smile, my rapist lowered his head, kissing my belly, making my heart feel strangely before his head dipped lower and disappeared up my skirt.

The man's friend, forgotten about in the assault on my body and my orgasm, held his knife to my throat while the taller boy pushed his face in between my legs and I felt his tongue begin its lapping up of the fluid he had helped to make pour out of me.

"No, no no!" I cried out, feeling the ecstasy of his mouth working me over, his lips stopping to kiss the clit he was horribly awakening again.

"Oh, please stop!" I begged but his hands only reached up and grabbed a breast each to squeeze. They were almost too big for his hands and they spilled over. My nipples were rubbed pleasantly against his palms while continued to taste me.

My mouth hung open and my pleadings for him to stop what he was doing were becoming indiscernible, I might have well been making sounds that made him more forceful, his mouth more greedy, his face continually bumping my labia, building the pressure steadily. His effort to lick me clean was useless; he was only causing more cream to gush out from my hole and into his mouth; the sounds of his eating me were filling up the alley, along with my involuntary sounds of pleasure.

Soon another climax happened and I drowned out his slurping, pushing my chest further into his grasp and my vulva closer to his face and his too wise mouth.

I was panting as his friend was laughing and my devourer rose to his feet again.

"No good," he said, leaning closer to my agape mouth and I could smell myself all over his face. "You're too _dirty_ to ever be clean. I could be down there all day and you'd still be _filthy_ ," he insulted returning the gun to my cheek. "Tell me you'd like me to be down there all day," he ordered, the gun driving home the instructions.

"I'd like you down there all day," I said, learning now what to do to please him.

He looked at me, well satisfied and then brought a hand to his pants which were tented badly at the front, a bad erection straining the fabric, and I choked away some quick thought, averting my eyes from it. "But I can't go down there right now because this wants to make you dirtier. And since you're so dirty already...do you want this inside of you?" he asked and unzipped his fly to take out something very raw and red and frightening.

"NO!" I screamed even as my cunt twitched that it wanted it, yes indeed, having already delighted in his fingers and tongue.

"YOU WANT IT!" the man whom smelled of me shouted and my cheek ached from his gun.

"I WANT IT!" I exclaimed, fearing the second I would do the wrong thing that the bullet would tear through my cheek and into my mouth. But the man had other intentions for that orifice I soon learned.

"Apologize to it," the stranger said, pushing my head down towards it and making me fall to my knees.

"I'm sorry," I said, the tip of the organ by my lips, the bottom one brushing against the monstrous thing and making the man shudder.

"Put it in your mouth and tell it," the man said, bringing the gun to the back of my neck. I threw my head back and opened my mouth more as I cried, for he had touched one of my pleasure zones without knowing it. I watched as the man exploited the opportunity and inserted his cock into my mouth.

I frantically tried to deal with it and my lips started to clench and unclench while I made the only cries that I could manage with the oral cavity filled.

"Fuck," the criminal sounded, enjoying the way I was struggling with his member and I heard his friend laughing in delight at his evening's vicarious entertainment.

Shortly, without meaning to, I started to suckle the large piece of meat in my mouth on instinct and soon found my attacker whipping my head upward and down on his cock by my hair. It hit my uvula and throat and I felt myself losing air until he thankfully pulled me right off of it. It made a popping sound as it exited and a bridge of spit went from my tongue to the cock hole, similar to the earlier sight of saliva linking his mouth to nip.

The man brought the gun to my heart and said for me to repeat, "You taste so good."

"You taste so good," I said dutifully. He grabbed my hand painfully by the wrist, his penis angry and unsatisfied still by my face.

"But your _pussy_ wants it."

"No," I said, thinking of my virginity, and struggled, making the man grab me hard and push me back into the wall. The skin that had been scraped once already received a fresh peeling. My plump legs were spread and I could feel the excited penis at the threshold of the place he wanted me to confess desired him and was ready to enter, invited or not.

"Tell me that your pussy WANTS my cock!" the boy demanded, his gun pressed between my breasts, aimed at my quickening heart.

"My p-puss-y-y wa-wants your cock," I whispered and inspired another wicked smile to cross his contrastingly innocent face.

He took the barrel out from between my breasts and forced it inside of my mouth. "Are you telling me the truth?" he asked.

I nodded, tasting my tears still on the gun's end, making it almost as salty as his cock had been.

The man smiled and lowered his head to kiss the flesh of my breast where the gun had been pressed. It was a soft and gentle kiss, like we were only having a game between us and he was rewarding me for playing along; my heart, lying close under skin and fat, blood and bone beat faster for it.

My attacker removed the gun from my mouth simultaneously pushing his swollen, impatient length inside of me. I was violently torn, a sensation of being broken through which was mercifully quick. My walls clenched the cock which had invaded them in welcome and I saw the boy's eyes close in bliss while his body experienced the pleasure, reacting to it with a moan. It only made him greedy however.

He began his repeated thrusting within, trying to coax more embraces from my obliging cunt.

I could feel each sliding of his cock against those same walls, like an intruder carelessly, violently breaking inside, going deeper with each thrust. I felt violated, wounded and yet I could not make my body completely share the sentiment. The more the man stayed inside, the more forceful he became and deeper he went, my body responded like a traitor, adoring the member touching it there for the first time.

My buttocks, before only scraped, were now bleeding and cut.

While this went on below our waists, the man proceeded to know me with his lips. He kissed my breasts, sucking on nipples he had already made raw, but which still welcomed his return. This caused the bliss to only grow to my dripping wet tunnel, which was receiving the man's organ, leaking in its own way.

He gave to me his fluid while I offered to him, helplessly, my own. But it was when he raised his head, bringing the mouth still baring the evil grin to my lips that something jolted through my heart and soul and was truly _given_. His mouth on mine, trying to devour me, his tongue forced in with as much intensity as his phallus and I felt as if something passed through to me from that tongue, those lips and his kiss.

And like some fool, I did not know how to react to this, my first true kiss, on the lips he had split opened and were screaming out in pain. So I returned it, enjoying what I had never had before at the same time I was trying to desperately return to him whatever he had placed within me.

My body telling me it was close, the feeling like I was going to pee all over both myself and him, I cried out into his mouth as the most violent of my orgasms came, hoping that I had, at least, managed to send back whatever had been given with his damnable kiss.

The boy took his mouth away from mine, wanting to see my coming as he began to unleash his cum as well. He searched my face hungrily, watching my head falling back, my mouth opened wide in a passionate scream and my eyes, at first very wide, and then half lidded as violence was replaced unnervingly with a certain odd enraptured peace. 

Then I saw the boy's smile...It seemed not so wicked now as he watched what he had wrought in me against my will.

The last few grasps of my vagina, the final few spurts of his cock and my rapist slipped out of me, leaving my lower half feeling sore and empty.

"Tell me that you liked it...say that you liked it..." he coaxed me gently one last time in a whisper.

"Yes...yes, I liked it. Oh God...I liked it," I whimpered biting my bottom lip and crying.

I saw the other boy, momentarily forgotten about again, and prayed to God that he would not have me because...

A siren started up then and I felt guilty and afraid at its sound, fearing it was coming after me too. The short boy cried out in fear, "We gotta get out of here!"

He started to run off first, ahead of his friend. My eyes met my attacker's and I felt one moment of confused loss before he left me to run down the alley, letting me fall to the ground in a wet heap, where I watched him running away.

Only twice did he stop, once to steal the book, which appeared to be likewise covered in blood, cum and cream and the second to turn and stare at me from the end of the alley. Though I tried to see his face, he had in his hands a flashlight and as it blinded me, I wondered if it had been only that all along and not a gun. I couldn't see right with that light in my eyes. I felt blinded, straight to my thoughts and not only to my vision.

Then the light was gone and so was the man, his possessing the speed of the Doomsayer.

I pulled down my bra, sweater and vest and crawled towards my white panties and put them on to shield myself. Then I used the wall to help me to stand again as the patrol car pulled into the alley.

Two men emerged from the car: one older and gristled the other handsome and fresh.

"Are you all right?" the older asked.

"I don't know," I replied, running a hand through my brown curls and wondering if in the darkness of the alley they failed to see my split lip and any other damage that the man had done to me. "He stole the book," I stated, looking to where it had once lain before it had been taken.

"Your book," the older cop asked once more.

"No," I commented. "The library's."

The younger laughed. "A library?" he repeated as if the word was unfamiliar.

I took a moment to look up at him, as if, likewise, he was toying with me and thought that it was a case of police brutality to play around with a victim. "A library...the place where they allow you to borrow books?" I stated, playing along.

The younger man laughed at me. "No place like that exists...nobody would ever _trust_ someone to return it." He then opened the back door to the cruiser. "Get in. We have a line up waiting downtown. You can help identify the mugger."

I fell against the same wall that had witnessed my violation and couldn't tell if the wet on it was my blood, cum or the rain. "But...he just got away....how?"

"That was _hours_ ago," the older cop replied. He said it like his age gave him more experience with the complexities of time and how it passed strangely than either myself or his younger partner.

"Did it take you so long to reach me?" I asked, my voice very far away, even from my own ears.

"Yes," the younger cop replied. "It is very hard to reach you."

**III**

Down at the station nobody acknowledged me. The two cops flanked my used body and received nods of recognition but not a glance or nod was thrown my way and by the time they brought me to the darkened room, I was pleased for the blackness, hoping to disappear inside of it.

"Will he be able to see me?" I asked and my voice sounded almost too excited as I peered out what I presumed was a one way window.

"No," the veteran cop asked. "Not that it matters...does it ever? You're the one he victimized; he _knows_ you anyway. It only would make a difference if you accused the wrong man. But there's no chance of that now."

I lowered my head, the thought never having occurred to me.

The younger man gave a signal and a group of suspects were brought onto a lighted stage in the other room. The men all stepped upon the stage and turned to face me, awaiting my proclamation of one amongst them's guilt and the rest of their innocence. Only the act shocked me as I realized that the height scale behind them was void and that the task set before me was seemingly impossible.

"They're all the same man," I replied in something closer to a whisper than a scream.

"Are they?" the younger police officer turned slowly towards me and asked. He looked as if he was either mocking me for my having stated the obvious or honestly baffled by the question.

I turned, helplessly to the older policeman, hoping for some clarity in the dark.

From the light of the other room, I saw his face cast in eerie light and grow philosophical while he stared at the line of four identical men that they expected me to accuse the right one from.

"A man is many different things, what he shows to any given person and what he keep for himself," the older cop said. "He is not one individual but an army all at once: a legion. Only one he keeps forever inside his head, between himself and God, and that is where he dwells with his secrets and his true self."

I studied the legion while he continued his musings. The first was wearing a black vest over a grey tank top with a pair of jeans. All of them were in jeans actually. Only Suspect #1 had slightly longer hair than the rest. Suspect #2 had a football jacket of red and white, a large #30 on its sleeve. There was a yellow shirt beneath it,which seemed familiar. Suspect #3 was in black jacket over brown shirt. At the end stood Suspect #4 in another black jacket, only over another yellow shirt. He wore gloves on his hands.

"Do you have any secrets?" I thought I heard the rookie cop ask and I turned to him.

"What?"

"I asked if you see the man that took your book?"

"I don't know," I stated, staring at faces which were all the same despite differences in small details. "I can't tell...I brought a bit of him here with me...would that help. The book was not all he took."

The men shared a look between each other, one of weary shock.

"Did he?" the older detective asked.

"He did," I repeated the first two words in reverse.

"You didn't mention that he had," the young officer remarked.

"I didn't?" I asked in a daze, my eyes on the last man in the line.

"That should make it easier," the grizzled one said.

"I thought it might," I said, letting my hand touch the cold glass to my right.

"You will have to try them each out to find the right one," he completed his thought.

I tore my eyes away from the last suspect to look at the younger cop. "But can't you just take a sample of him from me?"

Fresh shook his head. "Like you said, we can only condemn one part of him..."

"But..." I started to argue, railing at what the upholders of the law were suggesting.

"He already did it once," the older man commented. "The damage has already been done. Might as well go with it now. As long as you didn't _like_ it you should be fine."

"You don't want him to do that to anyone else do you?" the young cop asked in what sounded like an accusation.

Guilt flooding over me, slowly, I nodded my consent.

I turned to look at the four men, wondering if they could see me and longing to have my book again to hide myself behind.

**IV**

I was given the option to take them all at once and get it over with or one at a time to be more thorough, just like the attack itself. I chose the second because I did not want my attention diverted, although I wondered in depravement what it would be like to make love to the same man and to have him ravish me in many ways all at once.

The first suspect walked into the blackened room full of youthful attitude, as I sat alone in it, the cops allowing me to share my humiliation only with the potentially guilty, and I saw that it was the boy with the slightly longer hair.

"You got a shower?" he asked as he shut the door behind him.

I shook my head, thinking I needed one as well. Then I could wipe the cum from off of my thighs since it could no longer be used as evidence. "Where did they find you?" I asked.

"Got busted at the Eaton for too lively busking, I guess...a friend was singing Yankee Doodle Dandy. You'd think he was singing Yank my Doodle it's a Dandy! They rounded me up. Musta been a sound limit or something."

I didn't possess the heart to tell him that I was the cause for his captivity, so all I said was, "I'm sorry."

"Why it's not your fault?" he remarked and I could not tell if he was sincere or not, for his tone was the type which lent itself to sarcasm. "Any pancakes here? I'm hungry," he added quickly, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets and eyeing me as if he were ravenous.

I stood and let my no longer white panties fall to the floor. My eyes watched the young suspect's face as they descended and I stepped out of them. I suffered arousal as his eyes ascended up my plump body but I turned away from it in order to move to stand to the side of the table facing him. Aware still of his eyes on me, each step brought burst upon burst of pleasure to my clit until by the time I sat on the table, lying back and spreading my legs before him it was already quite swollen. Even more blood rushed to it as I watched Suspect #1 eyeing it with even stronger hunger. "You can have me instead," I offered. "If you want..."

Instantly the man strode to the banquet between my legs and started his feeding, proving that I was what he wanted very much.

I moaned and lay fully down, my bud, reaching its full height while surrounded by his lips. I tried to see if they felt familiar...if it was the same man whom had sucked on me in the alleyway. It felt as good as when the other man had but...

_"But it wasn't supposed to feel good,"_ I thought to myself, whipping my head to the side as he began to explore my hole with his tongue, tasting what was presumbably flooding onto it.

"No," I mumbled and the man took his head from me instantly.

"You want me to stop?" he asked. "I'm not that part of..."

"No," I said, not allowing him to continue. "Yes...I should have called out yes."

Suspect #1 offered me a boyish grin before returning to his feast. As he licked and kissed, lapped and suckled, I writhed in ecstacy on the police table, no doubt, getting a different type of cream over its old polished surface than it was used to.

I cried out loudly in my orgasm, my body convulsing while my lover rubbed his face into my folds and then kissed each side after the motion had stopped completely.

He stood and returned his hands to his pockets, now full and thus finished with me. "So can I go now and find a shower?" he asked with his face very wet.

"Yes," I answered. "Just, please, tell them to send the next suspect in on your way out."

**V**

When Suspect #2 came in, he was full of energetic defiance.

"So what if I caused a little problem with my friend in the stereo section? Was it worth bringing me in? It was that stuffed shirt, wasn't it?"

A friend, I thought. The man whom had attacked me had had a friend with him; I'd almost forgotten. The friend had had a knife. I had remembered thinking when the first boy had finished with me that I was glad it had been him and not his friend...the friend had not attrac...

The thought was cut off by the reminder of how I was here to save other girls from going through what I had gone through.

"I doubt it," I said, knowing that it hadn't been the stuffed shirt at all. "What were you doing in the stereo section anyway?" I asked in curiosity.

He shrugged, his head tilting more to the left. "We play around with the stereos...turning the dials and making it go loud..."

I descended from the table and stood, lifting up my sweater and vest to show Suspect #2 my breasts. He looked at them in lust and I soon lifted up my skirt to show him my citoris now peeking from the top of my slit, arousal returning to it from my blatant display of myself to the boy and his appreciation. "Would you like to play with _me_ now?" I invited.

The stereo obsessed teen looked at me with a raunchy wide grin and came over to my body. He clutched my breasts, letting them fall and overflow from the cups of his large hands and I purred from the touch. He met my eyes, obviously taken back by the sound and how much he apparently liked it. His fingers found my nipples and he began to rub them in smooth circular motions.

"Ohhhh," I cried, his touch going straight to my bud.

"You got some pretty good woofers with some pretty accommodating knobs," he complimented.

I tried to say thank you but only wanted instead.

After he had caused the nipples to emerge completely, they were turned like volume dials in his touch and I gasped out loudly.

"You have a nice tone to you too," he said, smiling vulgarily but without any wickedness. "Can I make you go even louder?"

My nipple still in his right hand clasp, Suspect #2's fingers dipped lower ro find my clit. The finger making contact with the throbbing piece of flesh, I cried out louder, urging the boy to continue. His touch I compared to my rapist's but my thoughts returned to the other often forgotten about friend from the alley...

How I had not wanted the friend to have me afterwards...was grateful the cop had come when he had, so that then the man with the gun's seed had been the one drying on my thighs instead of the other one whom I had not been attracted to and did not want the cock or attention of.

"No!" I said, my volume raised, and felt the man stop playing with me.

"You want me to stop?" he asked. "I'm not that part of..."

"No," I said, not allowing him to continue. "Yes...I should have shouted yes."

A joyful smile claimed his face and he continued on with his fingering. I was crying loudly in his manipulations, wracked with pleasure until he placed his mouth over my free tit and I came, my orgasm heralded with a noisome scream.

"AHHHHHHH!"

I gave to him small, sweet noises afterwards as my body returned to a peaceful afterglow.

"Cool," he stated, wiping his wet fingers off on the inside of his jacket. "You can go _really_ loud. Must be the big tweeters."

He looked behind him and to the door. "You mind if I go now? I have one free call to make and I want to tell my friend what I just did in the police station."

"It's okay," I said out of breath. "But, please, send the next suspect in."

**VI**

Suspect #3 walked into the room like he knew he didn't really belong there and that he was just biding his time until it was all sorted out.

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked, confused by his carefree treatment of being arrested.

"Probably some jealous guy. I'm with the girl that he likes or he wants my motorcycle. Girls and bikes...those are the two things guys will envy you for...anything you can ride."

It was a crude remark but he said it with so much charm he could get away with it. I squirmed in the chair I was back to sitting on and then cried out in pain, aware of the cuts that were still there.

"Are you okay?" he asked coming forward.

"My butt," I said. "It's..."

"Let me see it," Suspect #3 said so compassionately that I stood and lifted my skirt to show him my torn and sore ass.

"That looks terrible...uh...what's your name?"

"Erin," I whispered, feeling warmer because he had asked for it.

"Erin," he said. "That's my name if you turn the n on its side. I'm just going to go out and get some stuff to clean this for you."

I was about to protest, when he left me alone suddenly. After his kindness I felt twice as lonely without him there and feared he had fled when he returned with a pitcher of water, a towel and some soap.

Eric looked almost shy as he requested, "You'd better get on your hands and knees so I can see it better."

"Okay," I said.

I fell down into the position he wanted and heard the sound of the suspect named Eric getting on his knees behind me. It wasn't bad when he was cleaning the wounds with just the water but when he began to use the soap I whimpered at the sting of it.

"Sorry Erin," he apologized. "But you have bits of dirt in the wounds. We have to get them out."

"It's all right," I said, thinking how nice it was that he was helping me.

Still his hands lingered a long time on my ass and I heard him making small labored breathing noises behind me, none quite as audible as when he let his hand dip between the crack and find the hole there to massage.

"What?" I asked but the man couldn't answer. He had placed his face into the crevice and his tongue was licking around the hole. It felt good but was not anything I could test to see if he was the man whom had hurt me or not by.

"ERIC!" I said, feeling steadily aroused and hot.

Suspect #3 rose to his knees again. "Sorry," he apologized. "It's just you looked so good, all shiny and lathered with the soap. I couldn't help myself but now...I...I have a problem. Could you help me, Erin?"

I turned around to find that Eric's jeans were tented, the shape of it all too familar. His face looked contorted in pain. "It hurts really bad," he said and ever so slightly moved his hand with the towel which was bloody, reminding me that he had helped clean me off.

Without needing further instruction, my hands went to his fly and unzipped it, not even aware that this was what I needed to do anyway but wanting to pay him back for his kindness.

"Oh, you're so nice, Erin," he stated. "So kind...now if you could just..."

Only I knew what he wanted and I brought the erection to my lips and began to fellate it, letting my tongue flick the slit.

He inhaled deeply while my lips repeatedly clenched on the head of his cock, my hand rubbing its length; he exhaled just as deeply. While I proceeded with trying to make the organ lose its anger, I remembered how the man in the alley's cock had felt in my mouth and how I had thought it was so smooth and nice. And when the first drip of liquid had hit my tongue, how wonder....

I removed my lips from off of the glans to whimper, "No."

"You want me to stop, Erin?" Eric asked breathlessly. "I will if you want to. I'm not that part of..."

"No," I said, not allowing him to continue. "Yes...I should have said yes, you taste so good."

I then clamped my mouth around the pulsating member, bolder with my lips and tongue. Eric shouted in relief, obviously having wanted me to finish him off. It came soon enough and I had my first taste of cum. I tried to keep my mouth on it but there was so much, my lips slipped off at the end. I tried to swallow what was in my mouth as the rest hit my face.

The man, his penis now spent and still in my hand, looked at me almost in embarrassment and then used the other side of the towel to clean his seed off of my face. I looked up at him and our eyes locked and I thought for a second how there might be something between us outside of the station, outside of the alley, until he said with guilt, "I'd better go use the phone, if that other guy is done with it. My girlfriend will be worried and I promised to make her dinner."

My stomach sank. As the man rose to leave the room, I felt almost as used and violated as I had in the alleyway.

"Send in Suspect #4," I said lowly and with pain .

"Sure, sure thing," Eric said without turning to look back.

**VII**

The last suspect entered the room and we regarded each other for what we both knew was not the first time.

"I'm Dickie Stanz," he introduced himself, closing the door behind him.

"You're the only one with a last name," I said awkwardly.

"Not that anyone would know it," the boy laughed bitterly. "They'd probably only see me as some thug or mugger...and they might even think I was two separate people..."

He walked towards me, each step, harsh, corrupted.

"I even have a backstory if you want it: addiction...a mother who loved me but turned on my memory to save some other guy...You see, nowadays we give our monsters tragic pasts so we don't have to be scared of them as much...we try to turn our horror into pity instead. So that if we ever find out that we're one of them, we won't have to feel so bad about ourselves."

He came and stood before me.

"You saw me on the other side of the glass," I said, having known it was him all along.

"You knew me and I knew you," Dickie said, touching my face with the back of a gloved finger. "Why did you try out the others then?"

"Because I wanted to know all the men that you are," I stated. "Because nowadays we give our monsters tragic pasts so we don't have to be scared of them as much...we try to turn our horror into pity instead and we try to understanf. Then, if we ever find out that we are one of them, we won't have to feel so bad."

He laughed and smiled at me fondly.

Dickie Stanz grabbed me by the neck, with the force and speedful arrogance that only the young could ever manage and pushed me back on to the table where I had already been turned into a feast once that night. His hand on my throat, he parted my legs and both stroked my mound and than slapped it, like Doctors used to do with freshly born humans.

I struggled while he undid his fly and pulled out the gun he always carried with him. My cunt was still wet from all of my earlier questioning when he pushed himself inside for his second taking of me. Locked in place now, he removed his hand from my throat to lift up my sweater and bra. He pressed his head into the soft large swells of my breasts, having his second helping of these also. His thrusting into me carried on without ceasing, proving wrong that old adage that you could never do two things at once.

This was it...better in its way than what #3 had done to me, the using and the casual throwing away. This was abuse without a shield and sex for what it really was to this man: a violent need and a weapon. I did not have to worry about being made a fool or being deceived. All I had to worry about was the fact that I...

"Say that you love _this..._ tell me you love _this_..."

"I love this!" I cried out surprised that the policeman had never once answered any of my cries.

"Tell me that I give it to you good."

"So good!" I screamed out.

"Say that you..."

"I love you!" I called out, my clitoris and vagina having flooded with as much blood as they could handle.

During my orgasm, a destructive thing of thrashing and brutality, I thought of how wonderfully perfect it was: Dickie's organ, beautifully filling me both with his flesh and now his seed, taking all I could give. How it was so like and unlike what the other suspects had given to me, for I wanted to be hurt in just this way too, just as much as he longed to hurt me, although I could never successfully answer why, could never make anyone understand that hidden part of myself.

"Yes," I cried. "OH YES!"

One last spasm from the guilty suspect's cock announced the ending of my interrogation of him. And as he lifted his head and smiled at me, I saw again that the wickedess was not there as full as it had been before.

It having been passed on already.

I hated to say these words to him as he kissed the skin over my heart but whispered them anyway. "Send the police officers back in please."

**VIII**

"So, did you find out what you needed to?" the older cop asked as I sat back in the chair, my ass more clean but the rest of me feeling more filthy than ever.

"Yes," I answered.

I remembered the alley and what had happened to me...

_"Tell me that you liked it...say that you liked it..."_

_"Yes...yes, I liked it. Oh God...I liked it."_

"Miss?" the senior detective asked, shaking me from my memory.

"Un huh?" I asked, blank faced and in a daze.

The younger cop looked annoyed and he threw at me the same question he had before. "For fuck's sake, you don't want him to do _that_ to anyone else do you?"

More memories of the different aspects of the man having of me flashed across my mind, his hands on my tits, his lips on my clit, his penis surrounded by my lips and later it embraced by my vaginal ones and sliding up and down my welcoming walls...

Suddenly I realized that, no...

I didn't want him to do that to anyone else.

"I couldn't tell from just that once..." I lied, trying my best to suppress my wicked smile. "I think you'd better send them all in again."


	2. An Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein, I kind of flat out explain a surrealistic piece of warped fanfiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was all probably obvious but here it is anyway.

I keep returning to the title of this story: "A Man is Many Different Things". It's entered my head often, and since I have considered doing an explanation for it, I think it might be good to do that today (and, err, yesterday when I started it.

I did this story mostly as a challenge set out to myself. " Yes, I Really Am This Pathetic," deals with trying to do a story for each of Keanu Reeves' characters and myself. This whole sad, probably futile endeavor is a love letter from someone to the person they can never have and whom never will likely know that they exist. But it has helped me sort some things out and create some interesting (to me, at least) tales which is never really a bad thing.

And to try to let someone very dear and special to me know that he is.

But coming up with some stories for his smaller characters has been rather challenging. Having tackled many of the biggies and being left with some really small and inconsequential characters is particularly daunting. Especially when I am trying to create unique stories, all of which can be anything from comedy to horror and any of the many different shades and colors in between and some all at once. I am going for that, you see. I want to explore certain topics, some of which are taboo, dark or forbidden, and to explore human nature through one man's filmography: the one which has come to mean the most to me and helped my heart to heal.

Only he broke it a little after Christmas when he said these words in an interview:

_"I hope people enjoy what I do...If someone talks about my body of work or whatever and appreciates it,” he said, trailing off. He shrugged. “Nice is nice.” “That’s about as far as it goes,” he continued, signaling that he’d rather jump under a moving bus to diffuse a bomb, Speed-style, than continue discussing the subject “I just roll up my sleeves and go to work.”_

I had hoped I could touch the object of my affections' heart with these stories; I had often read before that he was proud of his films and moved when anybody took the time to watch the movies he had helped bring to life. So I had spent a year writing them, with over 900,000 words, foolishly believing I could impress him or touch his heart. But to read that "nice" was about as far as it went broke my own.

You know that it did right, Keanu? If you read that one note, full of my pain, after all this time has passed, I hope that you understand _why_ it hurt. You said once that you never had been in love but picture for one second that you were in love with me and that you treasured these letters...picture if I said that it didn't matter to me if you read them; that my feelings had changed or all been a lie, and that nice was nice but that was as far as it went.

But it isn't. I have meant every letter, every single story has come from my heart because I am in love with you. And I wrote them thinking it could be some small gift to you in return for helping me through one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.

And so in my anger and pain, following my reading words so cruelly flippant, I wrote this to you, Keanu:

 _"I was trying to touch your heart and steal your breath away. A beautiful...a breathtaking...If people deserve that just from shouting it out in the audience at you or writing it on a sign, certainly 900,000 words in a year and over 80 stories featuring 61 of your characters might deserve it too, I had hoped. But apparently not._ _And if you do read these and I haven't earned it yet with some of your finest characters, **I seriously doubt I will do it with the stories dedicated to such prime characters as Stereo Teen and Thug** **#1."**_

And for anyone else, if that was the _second_ time you read that remark from me, it means you don't follow heartfelt requests very well and you have neither my respect nor my sympathy should you turn into a pillar of salt.

But those feelings of hurt and anger soon faded. And I realized that you, Keanu, probably have your own reasons for what you said. Or that, even if it was true, I still love you and forgive you. Hopefully you can do the same for me someday. 

But with those words, my mind had placed an impish challenge to the creator in my soul to try to show to both myself, and to you, that it _was_ possible for me to pull it off; that I _could_ find a way to use Stereo Teen and Thug #1 in a story that could be better than I had ever thought.

That I had it in me.

And I landed upon it soon after watching the "Night Heat" episodes and the whole idea of a police lineup entered my head.

I am well aware that my idea of a good story might darn well not be someone else's. But as long as I considered it to be something I would enjoy if it were written by somebody else, I knew I would be satisfied. And this idea fulfilled that.

I thought I could drag out most of the lesser Keanu characters into that lineup for something comedic. 

I'm okay at comedy. It could work, a girl being flustered at having to identify one man amongst many all of whom looked more or less the same.

But then the darker aspect of what Reeves' appearance on that show involved, and which I had not been aware of before, presented itself offering a different sort of tale: a perverted Cinderella/Goldilocks story. One that might _still_ be a comedy if looked at a certain way. I mean, that final segment was pitch black possibly, but still darkly funny at the same time.

But whereas comedy could be crazy and present a row of similar men, the level of dark sexuality and black humor I now had conjured up needed something to better to hang it all on. That was where the surrealism came into it.

I like surrealism a lot. I find strange comfort in the discomfort it offers.

But I also prefer it to have some sort of meaning hiding at those edges, edges where once you find them you can peel them back and uncover the truth. I'm not even talking about alwats a real world truth...something supernatural can work just as fine. Just as long as it carries some meaning with it.

But this isn't a supernatural instance here. The case here is about a man and a woman, both alike and suited to one another, and finding themselves within the same dream or nightmare.

There seems to be this unspoken rule, though, as an "artist" that you are supposed to leave the work unexplained. So many artists do that. They say that it's open for interpretation or they say it can mean _anything_ to the reader/viewer. It's the artistic thing to do right? Well, I'm going _not_ going to follow that rule. I'm going to blow the lid right off of that belief because I've heard it done to overkill and it always annoys the heck out of me.

Something can still exist as "art" if it is explained. When I write, I damn well know where I'm coming from and what I am trying to say. If it was mistaken for something else it would nag at me because I would know it was false and my vision had been defiled and misunderstood. That's a big pet peeve of mine: to not be understood.

So in the same impish, cheeky glee that moved me to find a meaty story for thin characters, I've decided to give an explanation for that which was hardly even cared about.

In short: if you want explanations for the preceding story read this.

If you prefer ambiguities don't.

**I**

**"Wasn't it too late to be out walking?"**

There we have it. The first line is the question, Erin (me, if you aren't aware of what this series is all about), asks of herself. "Wasn't it too late to be out walking?"

It is; but that's what she wants.

She is aware of this fact inside of her dream but cannot face it. It's _too_ late and she's in far too provocative clothing for her usual self: a skirt far too short for her to ever dare dress like in reality. Still she clasps a book to her chest (pink sweater, black vest: an ode to Ted "Theodore" Logan's color scheme, as well as Lucy from "Elfen Lied" and Audrey Horne from "Twin Peaks"). What is the title of the book she is hiding behind? "An Old Fashioned Girl" by Louisa May Alcott. That's important. It is what she wishes to believe she is and what she wants to present to others also.

Soon we meet the first incarnation of the ¿rapist: the Doomsayer. He wears a sign on his front which reads **"But you did".** What does that mean?

Track that to a possible conversation he might have with Erin in the future, prophet that he is:

_"I didn't want that to happen to me..."_

_"But you did."_

_"I didn't enjoy it..."_

_"But you did."_

A knowledge he possesses as she turns to walk into an alley, wearing too short of a skirt, far too late at night. All things that should be carefully considered unless it is tempting fate of sorts.

**"That's where dream mixes with nightmare...they become so tangled you can't seperate them, like toxins in the fresh air. Or Slinkys that find themselves twisted."**

The Doomsayer is aware that by going into the alleyway she will be confused and tries to warn her.

Erin inquires of him, concerned, if by standing at the alley's mouth if he has not become confused himself. It's that quote by Nietzsche essentially about staring into the abyss.

But the Doomsayer simy replies: **"I was confused a long time ago; I'm used to it by now."**

Something hurt him long ago in his past. It had made him confused and broken long before he came to stand at the edge of Erin's dark alley. He's past hope as soon she will be.

They stare at one another in understanding, both damaged in their same ways.

**"But if it's any consolation, parts of me are sorry. Just not certain ones,"** he apologizes. This is an indication that he is the first fragment of someone. He admits that he feels bad for what he is about to do but also that the whole of the Man does not. The use of the word "parts" is also lewd, indicative that his privates won't regret the sexual violation/encounter of Erin in the alley.

The Doomsayer disappears when she turns her head because he has no conviction or strength to prevent what the Man will do to Erin.

After what feels like a long time spent in the alleyway, Erin ecounters the next incarnation of the Man: the sexually cruel, brutal, enraged and destructive aspect of him.

The rapist¿ has a friend with him but this is really only because that was the case of the "Night Heat" episode which inspired it. There is nothing really important about him here, not until a certain sequence later.

Erin goes to run but when she almost makes it, is sure she has "won", the second incarnation of the man, the ¿rapist, somehow grabs her and pulls her back in. She simply did not _wish_ to win is the big possibility; being caught was her desire. Her victory lay in her defeat.

She sees that the Doomsayer has returned, but really only to tell her that he told her so.

**II**

**"It was the tall boy whom _had_ me."**

Had is italicized for the ¿rapist had Erin from the first moment she looked at him and wanted him too.

As this second incarnation of the Man attacks Erin, the book falls out of her hands, the Old Fashioned Girl falling. It spreads like her legs and she cannot fight her arousal.

Erin is put through various sexual acts in the alleyway for the first time in her life and is aroused and horrified by them. All the while, the ¿rapist wears a wicked smile which is the symbol of his pure enjoyment without remorse in what he is doing to her, one of the aspects of the unseen Man that was also standing at the start of the alleyway also and attempting to give her warning.

He forces her to tell him that she is enjoying it. This is another reference to the events from the TV episode which inspired this. But we'll be left with a different angle on this when the story is finished. How much of his words were really how Erin felt? Or did having her repeat them constantly simply trick her into believing them? It falls back to what the Doomsayer said about the mingling of dream and nightmare. Or possibly if your dream were to commit a nightmare against you, or your nightmare to give you your dream...

When he asks if she is telling the truth and she says yes it is a question of whether it is a lie or not.

The ¿rapist kisses her heart just as he had kissed her belly and Erin suffers more confusion for it is a tender act despite the man's violence. It speaks of something _more,_ something that she is unprepared for and moved by his more gentler actions, something unexpected and what she needs at that moment.

He rapes her fully then, stopping to offer her his evil smile before kissing her savagely. It is with that kiss that she feels that something has been given.

**"But it was when he raised his head, bringing the mouth still baring the evil grin to my lips that something jolted through my heart and soul and was truly _given_. His mouth on mine, trying to devour me, his tongue forced in with as much intensity as his phallus and I felt as if something passed through to me from that tongue, those lips and his kiss."**

She takes into her what was offered in her first true kiss. It is the _kiss_ which holds more power than the act of sex and Erin falls further, reciprocating it at the same time trying to return through it what the ¿rapist has given to her. She does not yet realize what it is.

It is plainly alluded to when he smiles at her, following their orgasms, when she notices his smile seems somehow less wicked:

**"Then I saw the boy's smile...It seemed not so wicked now as he watched what he had wrought in me against my will."**

The second aspect of the Man has another instruction for his ¿victim:

**"Tell me that you liked it...say that you liked it..." he coaxed me gently one last time in a whisper.**

Erin consents:

**"Yes...yes, I liked it. Oh God...I liked it," I whimpered biting my bottom lip and crying.**

Erin looks to the other boy and fears that he will have her next, something she does not want because...

It is interrupted by the sound of a siren but the thought will be continued later.

The ¿rapist flees, making Erin feel as if she has lost something. She has, of course: the attacker himself.

Before he leaves the boy does two things:

1\. Steals the "An Old Fashioned Girl" book, now covered in cream, cum and blood. The book _is_ Erin herself, or a part of her, just as the Doomsayer is the ¿rapist. What was done to her was done to it, the good, chaste "old fashioned" girl whom could not admit that she wanted the violent lovemaking in the alleyway. He steals it, just as he stole her virginity, and runs off with it, forbidding her to hide behind it anymore but to start her journey of self realization to whom she is.

2\. Stops to shine a flashlight in Erin's face and to stare at her. We've got several reasons for this: He is her twisted soulmate and he can't leave her without stealing one last glance. The light blinds her from fully seeing what has happened yet. And lastly, it's another ode to "Night Heat" where Keanu's character is shot by a cop and there is a question of whether or not the boy was armed. Hey! these stories are still odes to the man's roles here and if I didn't incorporate the source material I'd be severely negligent!

This also leads to the appearance of the two cops whom featured heavily in that Canadian cop drama: O'Brien and Giambone.

When they arrive, however, Erin is not so much focused on her violation but on the fact that her book has been taken. The boy has taken the shield that had previously given her strength, protection and identity. When inquired if it was hers, though, she admits it wasn't but was the library's instead: an institution which serves the world and where things are merely _borrowed_ but do not truly belong to us.

One cop makes a remark that no place like that exists due to a lack of trust.

The cops inform Erin that they are taking her downtown to identify the man whom stole her book, the theft having happened hours ago.

**"Did it take you so long to reach me?"** Erin asks.

To which a cop replies, **"Yes, it is very hard to reach you."**

This is a general summation of Erin's character at this time. She is hard to reach for many reasons: insecurity, fear, stubborness, distrust, isolation, loneliness, doubt, shyness. I am, by nature, now exceedingly aware of my thoughts and feelings. But this story represents an epiphany of self and its darker aspects. There was a time when I did try to deny certain feelings and yearnings but I have come to accept them. You'll understand this a bit better if you read the "Knock, Knock" entry to this series. Still, despite trying to be kind and friendly, I will admit to still being hard to reach at times because of some of the characteristics already listed. This is a nod to that and also to the fact that in the tale Erin has not awakened to her less than "socially acceptable" desires.

**III**

Erin is taken to the station where she is not acknowledged. She is ignored and is grateful for the darkened room mainly because she can hide there and have a reason why she isn't seen.

**"Will he be able to see me?"**

She asks this question with excitement as she prepares to look through the glass at the lineup; she _wants_ her attacker to see her again, as opposed to the other policemen at the station.

The older policeman, whom is the kinder and wiser of the two, says that he won't but it hardly matters because he'll know whom is accusing him anyway. There is no chance of her accusing the wrong man either, as we will soon find out.

All the suspects that are brought in are the same man.

Confused, Erin turns to the older cop for an explanation after failing to discern if the younger cop is aware of the fact.

And then comes the remark that the whole story rests on:

**"A man is many different things, what he shows to any given person and what he keep for himself," the older cop said. "He is not one individual but an army all at once: a legion. Only one he keeps forever inside his head, between himself and God, and that is where he dwells with his secrets and his true self."**

Each human being that we meet is not the singular person that we _see_. We are only ever given or allowed to see one side of them for the most part. There exists an inability to completely know any man wholly, or at least, there exists the wall that makes it incredibly difficult. Once again, the Doomsayer and the ¿rapist are part of some _Man_ whom remains unseen for the entire story. They are fragments of _him_ , some good and some bad but not the whole.

Erin studies the lineup trying to find her attacker. Seeing the last man with his gloves, it is obvious to her that he is the guilty one. She could end it all right there, if she wanted to.

The rookie cop asks, **"Do you have any secrets?"** but when Erin asks him to repeat the question it has changed to **"I asked if you see the man that took your book?"**

The original question was Erin's own guilt: knowing she had identified the man already and that she had secretly revelled in what he had done to her in the alley. It is her own secret just as the different people on stage, representing the Man, each carry their own. She knows the ¿rapist but hesitates to identify him.

Instead, she finally reveals that she was assaulted in the alley and has brought some of her attacker with her.

The cops are finally made more aware of what truly happened in the alley while Erin is in daze shocked she did not mention it before, her eyes resting on the final, guilty, aspect of the Man in the lineup, her hand coming to rest on the glass yearningly. But the answer is easy: she did not mention it because she was not _sure_ she had been raped. All she was certain of was that he had stolen away some part of herself.

And here is where the dirty, twisted, blackest joke I could think of regarding a police lineup and a sexual assault comes into play.

To find the part of the Man whom is guilty, Erin must repeat the sex acts with every man in the lineup to find the guilty party. Kind of like Cinderella or Goldilocks. Being all the same Man, the evidence between her legs is worthless because it would condemn them all. But they are after the specific part of a soul where the guilt lies: the aspect of the Man whom wanted to do that.

The older man unreasonably reasons that since the act of sex had already been committed against Erin once that it shouldn't matter if it is committed again. As long as she didn't _like_ it, she should be fine. If Erin liked it then he also unreasonably argues that the sin will be present. But the danger is hinted at, another warning, not from the Doomsayer this time: if she liked it and exposes herself to the ¿rapist again she will understand that she enjoyed it and will fall further into what the cop views as a crime and sin.

The younger cop further tries to guilt trip her into complying, stating that: **"You don't want him to do that to anyone else, do you?"**

A question which we will return to by the end, albeit with a different interpretation.

Erin, shamed, consents to it and looks back at the men in the lineup. She wishes that she had her book, desiring to hide behind the image of herself as an Old Fashioned Girl in the face of having sex with four different aspects of one Man to find a monster, something that is exciting her. But the ¿rapist has robbed her of the delusional self defense.

**IV**

When faced with the option of having the men all at once or taking them one at a time, Erin chooses the latter despite her curiousity over the former. She wonders what it would be like to make love to the same Man split up into parts. That's not exactly something I'd really ever consider, unless it was all the same guy. But, in this case, it was fitting for me because it was all the same Man. It was also a nod to one of my favorite lines from "A Christmas Carol".

The first suspect brought in is Keanu's Teen Client from " Hangin' In". Here I had to work with about a two minute scene involving a young man asking for a shower and pancakes. :/ It wasn't much to go on, but I could easily fit him into the cunnilingus aspect of Erin's attack or awakening. Teen Client, I suppose, would also be the attitude part of the unknown Man. He is full of toughness and potential sarcasm. If anything, he would harm with his mouth.

During this "interrogation", Erin faces the internal interrogation against herself here regarding over how what her ¿rapist had done to her was not supposed to feel good but did.

**"I moaned and lay fully down, my bud, reaching its full height while surrounded by his lips. I tried to see if they felt familiar...if it was the same man whom had sucked on me in the alleyway. It felt as good as when the other man had but...**

**_"'But it wasn't supposed to feel good,'_ I thought to myself, whipping my head to the side as he began to explore my hole with his tongue, tasting what was presumbably flooding onto it."**

She tells herself " **No** ", fighting the knowledge. Hearing the word, Suspect #1 instantly stops, believing it to be her sudden protest.

**"You want me to stop?"** he asks. **"I'm not that part of..."**

"...him," was what he was going to say. Him being the Man.

Suspect #1 is not the aspect of the unseen Man that is a violator. He respects the word no and has no desire to hurt besides with his words.

Erin lets him continue and the man smiles _boyishly_ , not wickedly. However, when he has had his fill and is properly done with her, Suspect #2's thoughts go selfishly to his next need: a shower. The ¿victim lets him go, telling him to send in the next suspect.

**V**

Suspect #2 is Stereo Teen #1 from "Letting Go", which basically involved a semi-young-punk teenager going in to fool around with the stereo equipment in a department store. Since stereos have knobs and stuff to play with, the thing my mind fell upon was the physical manipulation aspect of Erin's assault/awakening, and to make her give vocalization to her arousal.

He also was the one to have a _friend,_ as did the character from "Night Heat".

Reminded of her ¿rapist's companion, her body externally interrogating Suspect #2, internally her self interrogation forces her to confront the fact that between the two boys in the alley she was physically attracted to the one whom attacked her.

**"I cried out louder, urging the boy to continue. His touch I compared to my rapist's but my thoughts returned to the other often forgotten about friend from the alley...**

**How I had not wanted the friend to have me afterwards...was grateful the cop had come when he had, so that then the man with the gun's seed had been the one drying on my thighs instead of the other one whom I had not been attracted to and did not want the cock or attention of."**

She had preferred that he was the one to do what was done to her, for she wanted the darker boy and was attracted to him.

Once again, the girl cries no and the suspect stops, revealing that he is not the attacker. Full of youthful energy and a disrespect for authority, he still holds respect for the woman in his _hands_.

Erin lets him continue too, which he smiles _joyfully_ instead of wickedly. She orgasms and the Stereo Teen can't wait to go and brag to his friend what he just did at a police station.

Another suspect is called in.

**VI**

Eric from "Providence" is Suspect #3. A character whose source material is probably worse then any of the others. His scene consists of kissing a girl, walking down some stairs and riding away on his motorcycle. Oh and he fixed said girlfriend a nice supper. So I made him into the portrait of the Man's charming and disguised cruelty.

Eric walks into that interrogation room, confident and assured of his eventual innocence. He puts his arrest down to jealousy and makes a crude comment he can get away with because of his charm. We meet in Eric the certain manipulative aspects of the Man, dressed up well and forgiven because of his charisma and because they are not as brutally on display as the ¿rapist places his own destructive tendencies.

Yet they are clearly here throughout Erin's interrogation of Eric or maybe more better said, his _using_ of her.

He feigns caring for her, and seems to genuinely want to help heal her. He is the first to ask for Erin's name, a fact which touches her, and to use it. However, it's all done to get what he wants from the girl. It might be partially sincere but not in any deep way. He tricks Erin into feeling indebted to him and into fellating him.

It is during this act, not an interrogation of him, but a repayment for his "kindness" that she interrogates herself the penultimate time, recalling that she liked doing the act to the man whom had forced it of her.

**"While I proceeded with trying to make the organ lose its anger, I remembered how the man in the alley's cock had felt in my mouth and how I had thought it was so smooth and nice. And when the first drip of liquid had hit my tongue, how wonder....**

She can't carry the thought through to complete acceptance, however, and says no.

**"You want me to stop, Erin? I will if you want to. I'm not that part of..."** Eric asks in his bliss, still not the greedy, unrelenting part of the Man whom takes what he wants with violence and doesn't care for consent. 

Erin places him back inside her mouth, though, and brings him to his orgasm this time and not her own.

Having gotten what he desired, Eric becomes embarrassed, unlike the ¿rapist and there is no smile. They share a look between them that could have signaled a life together but Suspect #4 shows that it is never what he had planned. The man quickly excuses himself to go and call his girlfriend. 

Leaving Erin in pain, feeling as used and violated as she did in the alley.

At last, she is ready for Suspect #4

**VII**

The final suspect enters the room and both he and Erin are aware that they are not strangers.

There was far more to work with with Keanu's "Night Heat" character than I had expected. I had believed that they were disconnected appearances, nameless characters, but I soon found out they were the same and even had a name.

**"I'm Dickie Stanz,"** he offers it to Erin.

When she notes that he is the only aspect of the Man that possesses a full name, I have a bit of fun at my preconception regarding the role and also express that the criminal aspects of the Man are not properly identified by those whom would not wish to acknowledge them, even while he is fully aware of them himself.

**"Not that anyone would know it," the boy laughed bitterly. "They'd probably only see me as some thug or mugger...and they might even think I was two separate people..."**

Dickie elaborates on that of all the Suspects he also possesses a history and explanations/ motives for his actions:

**"I even have a backstory if you want it: addiction...a mother who loved me but turned on my memory to save some other guy...You see, nowadays we give our monsters tragic pasts so we don't have to be scared of them as much...we try to turn our horror into pity instead. So that if we ever find out that we're one of them, we won't have to feel so bad about ourselves."**

A bit of exploration into into our need to humanize our villains. That we look for reasons. It also marks the return of the insinuation that Erin is or will become similar to the man she met in the alleyway.

There is an acknowledgement that they saw and knew one another during the police lineup and Dickie inquires of her why, if she knew it was him all along, she tried out all the others.

**"Because I wanted to know all the men that you are,"** Erin confesses.

She had realized, as the older cop stated, that a man is not one _single_ person. He is several all at once. Longing to know the Man, she sought to find out more aspects and sides to him so she could see him as more than what he did to her and because she was attracted to him.

She then throws back his own words at him, echoing his words and showing that she is akin to him as well. **"Because nowadays we give our monsters tragic pasts so we don't have to be scared of them as much...we try to turn our horror into pity instead and we try to understand. Then, if we ever find out that we are one of them, we won't have to feel so bad."**

That last sentence directly relates to her.

Realizing that he has found someone whom understands him, whom is _like_ him, Dickie Stanz smiles in fondness at her.

He then forces Erin into her last "interrogation" of him and herself, doing it " **with the force and speedful arrogance that only the young could ever manage."**

The other parts of the Man could never match the brutality of this corner of his soul.

He slaps her cunt like a baby that has been born, just as he helped Erin give birth to her sexuality and then takes her in the supposed safety of the police station.

And Erin finds some form of peace in his violent act. After what Eric did to her, it is what it is without deception and it is welcomed and longed for.

**"This was it...better in its way than what #3 had done to me, the using and the casual throwing away. This was abuse without a shield and sex for what it really was to this man: a violent need and a weapon. I did not have to worry about being made a fool or being deceived. All I had to worry about was the fact that I..."**

All she has to worry about now is the fact that she loves it and loves even this brutal part of the Man.

Facts Suspect #4 makes her confess openly and accept.

During her orgasm, which is as violent as the act of love being comitted, she thinks **"how wonderfully perfect it was: Dickie's organ, beautifully filling me both with his flesh and now his seed, taking all I could give. How it was so like and unlike what the other suspects had given to me, for I wanted to be hurt in just this way too, just as much as he longed to hurt me, although I could never successfully answer why, could never make anyone understand that hidden part of myself."**

She is Dickie Stanz perfect match; while he wishes to cause pain, Erin longs to receive it. She desires the brutality but it is the secret part of herself, a fragment, just as the man thrusting into her without care or concern is a part of some unknown Man. It is the aspect she hides from the world and why her dream and nightmare were inseparable.

When Dickie smiles at her the full wickedness of his smile is still missing and Erin realizes it has been passed on.

He kisses her heart, loving his other half despite his sexual cruelty, and in regret she sends him away to send the police officers back in.

**VIII**

The elder cops asks, **"So, did you find out what you needed to?"**

The voice of experience knows she needed to find out the truth about herself and her own secret self.

Erin, meanwhile, though cleansed physically by Eric, now feels more dirty than ever, having come to the realization of what she is. She replies " **yes** " to the question.

The words spoken to her by Dickie return:

**_"Tell me that you liked it...say that you liked it..."_ **

**_"Yes...yes, I liked it. Oh God...I liked it."_ **

And she truly embraces that she did not lie in the alleyway: she did enjoy Dickie Stanz' abuse of her.

Lacking his older partner's wisdom, the rookie demands in irritation: 

**"For fuck's sake, you don't want him to do _that_ to anyone else do you?"**

In Erin's mind, flash every single sexual act that the Man committed against and with her, in all his various forms, and in heated longing she sees the question in another light. No longer a victim, she accepts that she does not want the Man to hurt anybody _but_ her.

**"Suddenly I realized that, no...**

**I didn't want him to do that to anyone else."**

Looking at the police officer, Erin lies to him, **"I couldn't tell from just that once..."** Though she is absolutely sure of whom the guilty part of the Man is, and could punish him, she chooses not to do so.

She shows off the smile she has acquired from her lover, revealing where it went to and what was given to her in the alleyway, a certain wickedness, or that which is not accepted by the world and which she has to now hide.

Erin orders, and it is left unclear if she means separately or altogether, **"I think you'd better send them all in again."**

Erin is now complicit in his guilt or corrupted by what was done to her. The two have become so tangled they cannot be separated.

Or perhaps they exist both at once.

You see...a man can be many different things...

And a woman can be too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Keanu;
> 
> I had a note planned for you but right now I'm so nervous I'm having trouble concentrating. My stress test is on Thursday. Remember how I was nervous about farting during my sleep test? Well, I'm worried about that again and also fanny farts, my pants falling down, falling off of the treadmill...the chances for failure and humiliation are limitless!
> 
> I watched Superman 2, both versions this week. The theatrically released one was on Monday and the Donner version on Tuesday. It created a weird ode to Groundhog Day that way. Also to this...A Man is Many Different Things...I kind of prefer Clark Kent to Superman...But honestly I like Superman better than Batman. I heard someone say once, Batman is cooler but Superman is the foundation of all superheroes.
> 
> Speaking of which, the BRZRKR covers are looking beautiful. But you don't need me to tell you that. You have the world and everyone else over at kickstarter saying it. I'm just a raindrop in the ocean.
> 
> Ummm...what else...a reader once mentioned to me that you read from Paul Gauguin at a showing of his work. I read some interviews about that today. You and I could be a disaster together, Keanu Reeves. If you took two people and blended them together, I always say, you'd have me. The first is Therese of Lisieux. The second is Vincent Van Gogh. 
> 
> Just like you like Mercutio and I like Tybalt.
> 
> This sounds dangerous...
> 
> We could be a beautiful disaster though.
> 
> *kisses your forehead*
> 
> Take care, "Paul/Mercutio" your "Vincent/Tybalt" has her stress test tomorrow and needs to get some rest.
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO  
> :D <3

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Keanu;
> 
> It's funny but while writing this I read an interview with you from the 90s intimating that you couldn't wait to retire and one also stating that you used to show up late for filming and not take direction until your agent sat you down and you had a little talk. 
> 
> So, now I really am confused on your stance about acting! I read things saying you love it and are serious about it and then I read things that make it seem that you aren't. I'm confused and don't know what to think.
> 
> It's like in this story maybe? You are many things to many different people...I just wonder which is the real one sometimes and whom you are to you.
> 
> This story is meant to be a dream. I can tell you the oddest dream I ever had. Odd because it made sense in it's own way, which dreams rarely do.
> 
> It was when Jordan was in my life, about 4 and a half years ago now. I dreamt I was down at Giant Tiger. At the checkout counter, paying for my groceries, Jordan contacted me on my tablet that he was coming to see me soon. I was so happy.
> 
> However, when I came home, I found a letter in the front door. It told me to stay away from Jordan because he was dangerous. I quickly drove next door (in this dream apparently next door was very far away :/ ) and asked my neighbors if they had seen whom had left me the letter. They looked at me strangely and shook their heads but I knew they were keeping something from me. My friends drove me back home and I looked back at my neighbors to see them still staring strangely in my direction.
> 
> When I arrived back home the neighbors soon walked over (apparently the distance was shorter now :/ ) and told me what they had been keeping a secret from me.
> 
> You wrote the letter, they said.
> 
> Shortly after that the floor in my house was giving out under my feet and I had to step carefully to avoid falling into the holes.
> 
> Sometime after that dream, I tried to get away from Jordan and it worked for a while. Then I went back. Now I wish I would have listened to the dream, though, because he was dangerous and I should have stayed away.
> 
> Once again, like I wrote earlier, God planned, I laughed and then ended up crying later.
> 
> Much love,  
> Erin  
> XO XO  
> :D <3


End file.
